


To Find a Stray

by TheStrange_One



Series: 12 Days of Christmas 2020 [11]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Mentions of Animal Abuse/Neglect, Stray, Vet, new pet kits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:41:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28290315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheStrange_One/pseuds/TheStrange_One
Summary: Peter gets a text from Wade that makes him speed towards the other man.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Wade Wilson
Series: 12 Days of Christmas 2020 [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2054064
Comments: 12
Kudos: 130





	To Find a Stray

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Little_Miss_Anime_Luva](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Little_Miss_Anime_Luva/gifts).



> I know I missed a day. I probably won't finish until after Christmas, because I'm tired and slightly blue this year. It'll pass.

Peter’s on his way home when he gets the text from Wade.

Wade Wilson, also known as Deadpool, also known to the superhero elite of the city as “annoying.” (Well, to anyone but Peter.) Wade claimed he wanted to turn over a new leaf, to learn how to be a hero like his own hero. His hero, Spider-Man.

And Peter would have been lying if he didn’t admit he was a _little_ flattered that Wade’s favorite hero was Spider-Man. (And that it hadn’t influenced his decision to give Wade his number _at all_.) Most people called Spider-Man a menace, or a nuisance, or—in some cases—that annoying kid. So, having someone look up to _him_ was just a little bit—heady.

And Wade seriously needed the guidance. Peter had had to teach the former merc that no, it was not okay to shoot someone for robbing a bank with a pitchfork. (Wade hadn’t even been _in_ the city; he had no idea where that happened.) He’d had to explain, both in person and over the phone, the proper procedure for incapacitating criminals and turning them over for justice.

So Peter wasted _no_ time in checking his messages when he got a text notification from Wade.

 _Help me Spidey_ , the text read. _I’m afraid to move_.

Peter quickly got an address, suited up and swung over. The whole way there he was wondering; what could possibly have Wade afraid to move? He’d seen Wade run out to get hit by moving vehicles, dance through an active gunfight, etc. What could have him too scared to move?

He was—he was not prepared for the sight that met him when he arrived. Wade was (of course) in full gear as he sat on a crate in an alley. In Wade’s lap, curled up on one leg, was a dirty street cat. There was so much dirt on it that it was impossible for Peter to tell what color the cat actually was. The cat was missing a good third of one of its ears, and the tail didn’t lie quite right around the body. Wade’s hands kept hovering by the cat, then jerking back quickly as though afraid to touch it.

Wade looked up at the click, his mask somehow betraying his shock. “Did you—did you just take a picture of me?” he asked.

“Yup,” said Peter as he quickly went into settings. “Your new contact photo; you're adorable. Now, what’s the problem?” He saved his changes and shoved his phone back into its pocket. Wade gestured the cat. Peter looked between the cat and Wade without comprehension. “Do you—not like cats? Are you allergic?”

“No—but—what if I hurt her?” Wade asked, his voice small. “I mean, she’s so _tiny_ Spidey! What if I squish her by accident?”

“You’re not going to hurt her,” Peter assured him. “I’m going to help. And first,” Peter went over to him and gently scooped up the cat who gave an irritated sound before he pulled Wade to his feet, “we’re going to talk to an expert.” He held Wade’s hands out and gently deposited the cat on them.

The cat’s ears flicked irritably before it turned in a circle and curled back up, letting out a small, clearly audible purr.

“I don’t know what happened,” Wade said as he followed Peter. When they hit the sidewalks people stared at the sight of Spider-Man leading Deadpool, who was carrying a kitten, around. “I was sitting there, minding my own beeswax, really I was—and suddenly she was on my lap. And I wanted to get up, but she didn’t want to move, so I thought of picking her up—but what if I hurt her? What if I accidentally squished her? Then I tried to think of everyone I know who might come. Weasel would have laughed and hung up on me, and I’m pretty sure Domino would have just hung up on me and I think that Nate might squish her on purpose. I don’t think there are pets where he’s from; he just doesn’t know how to handle them.”

Peter was glad that he didn’t know any of those people. “I’m glad you called me,” he said warmly.

“It’s okay? If stuff like this happens again?”

They reached the door that Peter was looking for and he looked at Wade—who was shrunk in on himself a bit. “Of course it is,” Peter said firmly. “I gave you my number so you could contact me.”

“Oh.”

Wade was uncharacteristically silent as they entered the building. The young man, in a white coat, at the front desk looked at him and sighed. “Not _another_ stray, Spider-Man!”

“Not my stray,” Peter hurriedly assured him. He stepped to the side to reveal the cat in Wade’s hands. “His.”

Wade held out his hands. “I think she’s hurt,” he said. “She keeps making this strange noise.”

Peter bit the inside of his cheek. “That’s a ‘purr,’ ‘Pool,” he said gently. He looked at the receptionist. “You might want to tell the vet he’s going to need the full new kitty kit.” The man sighed and went to the back as Wade and Peter took their seats in the uncomfortable, hard plastic chairs.

“They know you here,” said Wade.

“Well, yes,” said Peter. “Sometimes I find friendly strays that only need homes. One time,” he said, trying to ignore the rage that still fizzled in the back of his mind when he thought about it, “I found this poor cat. ‘Pool, this poor thing had been declawed and then just—just thrown in the alley with the garbage.”

“But—that—how could it hunt?” To Peter’s relief, Wade sounded scandalized.

“He couldn't. The poor thing was left to starve. So, I brought him here.”

“Spider-Man’s censoring the worst bit,” the receptionist said as he came back out. “Someone had gotten the poor tom’s vocal chords clipped too, so he couldn't even call for help. I don’t know how Spider-Man even found him.” He gestured. “We’ve got an open office for the two of you. And, Spider-Man—”

“I know,” said Peter with a grin the other man couldn't see. “Leave through the back door.” He got up and Wade followed his lead, trailing behind him through the halls of the office until they were deposited in a room.

“What happened to the cat?” Wade asked.

“He didn’t make it,” Peter said sadly. “The people here, they tried everything, but they just couldn't save him.”

“That’s horrible.” Peter saw Wade staring at the little cat still curled in his hands. “Are—are any of the strays you rescued okay?”

“Oh, yeah.” Peter grinned. “I came across this poor rottweiler that someone was ‘training’ to be a guard dog. Found him a _much_ better home—even if he doesn’t have a better name.”

“Really?”

Peter shrugged. “The guy I—ah—rescued him from called him ‘Killer.’ His new home decided that was too fierce a name and now the dog goes by ‘Princess’.”

“Oh, that’s—wait. Isn’t one of Frank’s dogs named—?”

The door opened and the vet came in. “So you brought me another stray,” said a woman in a white coat as she walked in. Peter grinned at her. She was one of those no-nonsense people that woke up one morning and said, “Fuck your sensibilities, I’m not wearing makeup anymore.”

“Not me,” Peter defended as he gestured to Wade. “Him.”

“Hmm.” The vet turned her attention towards the cat in Wade’s hands and looked it over. “Poor thing looks like it’s had a hard life.” She gave it a poke. “And might have worms. Let me take her and get her cleaned up. We’ll be right back.” She gently scooped the cat out of Wade’s hands and left the room with her. Then poked her head back in. “And if you come across any tigers—I don’t _care_ how young they are—they go to the fucking zoo!”

Wade tracked back to Peter. “Tiger?”

“It was a cub,” Peter defended. “And I didn’t think that DEA and ATF cared about it.”

“So, you brought it here.”

Peter shrugged. “Only vet I’m comfortable with,” he explained.

“Huh.” They waited in silence for a moment. “Am I—am I one of your strays?” Wade asked.

“What? No. I find the strays,” Peter assured him. “You found me, remember?”

“Oh.” Wade sat there, staring at the wall for a moment. “Does that make you _my_ stray?” he asked.

Peter grinned behind the mask. “I mean, I can be?” he thought about it. “Well, you buy me food, look after my health as best you can, and give me affection when you can, so—yeah. I guess I’m your stray ‘Pool.”

Wade nodded. He was uncharacteristically silent until the vet returned with the now clean cat (who turned out to be calico under all that dirt) and handed her over with some paperwork. “She’s clean, been wormed, and gotten her first vaccinations. This is your starter kitten kit. Do you have a better reputation than Spider-Man?”

“What?” asked Wade.

“If people know you come here, am I more or less likely to face an influx of clients,” demanded the vet.

Peter flinched, remembering the whole thing when someone shot a photo of him entering with an injured St. Bernard. “Sorry,” he said.

“Uh, people might avoid you with a ten foot pole,” Wade said.

“Good. Come in through the front, during busy hour, sometime next week. We’ll schedule your next appointment then for the next round of vaccinations, and we’ll actually have time to breathe on the weekend. Any questions?”

“Do you have a ‘starter spider kit’?” Wade asked. “He and I just established that Spidey is my stray.”

“Spidey.” The vet’s voice was flat as she looked between the two vigilantes in his clinic room. Her lips curved into a smile. “Spidey. I like that. Now, out, both of you.”

Peter and Wade found themselves in the alley. “You want help getting her settled in?” Peter asked.

Wade jumped, as though startled. “Do you mind?” he asked. “I know you’ve got important things to do.”

Peter gently bumped his shoulder against Wade’s. “You’re important too, you know.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. Now, as your owner, the first thing I think we need to do is shop for your sister and then go home for movie and snacks.”

The two of them started off towards the nearest store. “One, she’s not my sister.”

“No, you’re my stray. We established this. She’s my stray. That makes you siblings.”

Peter laughed. Once again he was glad that Wade was in his life. And they did, indeed, have movie and snacks after shopping.

**Author's Note:**

> PSA: Don't declaw your cats. If you need to, look up "why not to declaw my cat" on google. It's too depressing to get into here.


End file.
